Fresh Wounds
by Chris Harvey
Summary: A few weeks after the traumatic events in OBSESSION, Purdey is still in emotional turmoil after Gambit's shooting of Larry Doomer, and Gambit is riddled with guilt and sleepless nights for being the one responsible for firing the fatal bullet. But Steed
1. Chapter 1

**THE NEW AVENGERS - "Fresh Wounds"**

Written by

Chris Harvey

_Fan Fiction based on THE NEW AVENGERS TV series and characters..._

_Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Steed, Gambit and Purdey. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended_

_Timeline: This story is set in the gap between OBSESSION and THE LION AND THE UNICORN (early July 1977 (actually starts Monday 4th July) based on the timeline established in Andrew Pixley's book THE AVENGERS FILES._

_Cast: Purdey, Gambit, Steed (so far)_

_Summary: A few weeks after the traumatic events in OBSESSION, Purdey is still in emotional turmoil after Gambit's shooting of Larry Doomer, and Gambit is riddled with guilt and sleepless nights for being the one responsible for firing the fatal bullet. But Steed has decided - and persuaded Mother - to keep their counselling "in the family" - within the triumvirate - at least in the first instance. Now, on this hot summer's day in early July, Purdey awaits Gambit's arrival at her flat before the two are to head off on an assignment... Meanwhile Steed is off on a secret mission of his own..._

_Author's Notes: WORK IN PROGRESS. I should stress that I don't actually know where this story is going but I've decided to upload it - better to share than to keep locked away, I think. Besides, there's such a small amount of NEW Avengers FanFic out there, that every little extra is surely most welcome! It's my first attempt at TNA FanFic (though I'm hardly new to creative writing - I write, screenplays, short stories and have "started" several novels). By all means read, review and point out any canon/continuity/character errors, just keep it constructive is all I ask. I've been a fan of the show since 1976 and must have watched each episode scores of times, but even so I don't claim to know everything about the world of TNA (yes, I could have sent it out for beta reading, but decided to put it up in the first instance - if nothing else it gets my first piece up on here - and it's never set in stone!). Hope you enjoy! _

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**"_Because of Berlin... It was years ago - the first time I went over the wall. I picked up three bullets and a fractured thigh. Traumatic. I felt like jelly. As soon as I could walk, they made me go over it again. The best way to destroy a fear is to face it, you see..." _John Steed to Purdey, "Obsession"**

Purdey slid the fastener of the suspender belt through the fine mesh of her stocking top and adjusted it with strong but nimble fingers until it was just right. Happy with things, she pulled down the hem of her skirt, lifted her foot off the chair and lowered it to the floor.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she started to pull on her boots. She snatched a glance at her watch then compared it to the bedside alarm clock. She would be decent before Gambit arrived. No foot up on a chair revealing sexy L-shaped curve of calf and thigh; no inviting stocking-top on offer; no suggestive zipping up of "kinky" boot. The guy was incorrigible!

A part of her - though she would never admit to it of course, being the lady she was - was always pleased to tease, especially where Mike Gambit was concerned, for, as certain as night followed day, he was certain to take the bait. She knew he would bed her given half the chance, but she never did give him the chance. Probably never would, although - again - a part of her wanted to, but she would never admit that either. Never say never though - Gambit was a handsome man. Sexy, yes. Tough, resilient - afterall, he was a trained killing machine. But then he could also be a soft puppy dog, charming in a playful way, and very funny. Yet it was exactly these extremes of his character - the lethal, hard, rugged trained killer at one end of the spectrum and the sensitive, soft-underbellied little boy at the other end - that was part of his appeal. Though, again, she went to great pains never to tell him all this. It wasn't difficult to inflate his already substantial ego.

All this and the fact that Mike Gambit would put himself between a bullet and she if ever it came to it. And he would kill for her, no question - as had been proved many times. And the one time - very recently when she had wished he hadn't killed for her, and he had done just that. But her emotions had been off the scale in the immediate aftermath - it was, without doubt, the single most traumatic incident in her life - and it had clouded her judgement. She had actually hated Gambit for, thankfully, a short period - when the red mist of trauma had clouded her vision, filled her head to bursting. Yet, emotions aside (exactly as she should be judging things, as a level-headed Department employee) it had been a simple choice: the other man's life, or hers. And in the blink of an eye, Gambit had made that choice. The right choice. The man had had a gun pointing right at her - was actually about to pull the trigger - But the extra honed, hair-trigger reflexes and speed of Mike Gambit had just beaten the other man's finger to the trigger.

But this wasn't any old enemy spy, villain, or rogue agent.

This had been the man she loved. Or at least _had_ done; _once..._

The painful memories of Larry Doomer suddenly came as a wave from nowhere again, threatening to wash over and drown her, but she quickly pushed them away, focussing her thoughts back on the here and now. She could normally keep her feelings at bay, so long a she didn't spend too much time with her own thoughts. Which is exactly why she liked to keep busy, and her job with the Department working with Steed and Gambit provided just the distraction she needed to stop the thinking becoming too much.

Most of the time anyway...

Heaven forbid the day should come when she had too much spare time. She honestly didn't know how she'd cope. And right now, she didn't want to think about that either.

But the psychological wounds caused by the death of Larry Doomer were still fresh and painful wounds; so tender. Unsurprising as it wasn't even a couple of weeks since the incident. Oh, violence and death came with the job, and you quickly got used to that - had to get used to it - at least as much as any human being could get used to death. And killing. But if you couldn't handle such unpleasantries, and indeed downright personal danger, then a job with the Department wasn't for you. This had crossed Purdey's mind several times in the emotional turmoil that had engulfed her immediately after Mike Gambit had put a fatal bullet into Doomer's body, but it didn't last long, and now she wanted her job with the Department more than ever. Made her even more determined - and even more of a tough cookie than ever. Adversity could be a great strengthener, an effective character builder.

No, there was no danger of Purdey resigning. They'd have to fire her first. Or someone kill her.

She finished zipping up the second boot, blew out a sigh and stretched to her feet. With her fingers, she eased a gap between the beaded curtain that separated her bedroom from the main living quarters of her "purple-themed" (as Gambit had once referred to it) flat and stepped through. Standing before the mirror, she smoothed down the front of her blouse and appraised herself up and down. She looked good, even if she admitted it herself, and despite only being awake less than an hour, there was virtually no remnant of sleep-heaviness in her features. Her make-up was expertly applied and pristine as always (not too heavy) defining the perfectly defined bone structure of a beautiful face - a bone structure many women would kill for. Indeed, one could be forgiven for thinking this beautiful woman had not a care in the world...

She needed cheering up. And the sun was indeed now shining outside. There had been a summer storm just an hour or so ago and the heavy rumble of thunder had woken her - beating her alarm clock to the task by several minutes. The sudden and torrential downpour that followed had been heavy - the rain drumming relentlessly against the windows, sounding like an onslaught of dried peas... And then it ended as suddenly as it had begun. She had lain beneath the thin bed sheet, quite glad of the cloudburst - the last few days had been extremely hot and humid - almost unbearably so - and she hoped that the downpour would quench the hot earth; freshen things up a little at least.

Purdey walked over to the kitchen area to put on some coffee. Gambit would be here any minute and she would have a cup ready for him. Although, with the day turning warm already, she wondered if he might prefer juice. No matter; she'd ask him when he arrived.

She reached for the coffee, opened it and started to spoon it into the percolator.


	2. Chapter 2

The appealing aroma of wet earth and grass filtered into Mike Gambit's nostrils as he stepped out of his car outside Purdey's flat. It had rained earlier, but already the early morning sun was starting to dry things out and it looked like a gloriously warm and sunny day lay ahead! The previous summer had been one of the hottest on record and the unrelenting heat had made the execution of some of their cases all the more difficult - particularly for Steed and himself - indeed all the male agents - being booted and suited as was the requirement (the Department's operatives weren't yet allowed to tackle cases in shorts, a T-shirt and sandals! Probably just as well); Purdey - as most women could - got away with it a little better by wearing lighter and more airy dresses and blouses (yet the girl still tended to don the knee-length boots - not that he was complaining - did any man object to a woman in boots? And Purdey did look all the more delicious in them). Alas, the men had to put up with the regulation suits. It was the "uniform", so to speak.

Gambit closed the driver's door of the Jaguar and sucked a deep breath in through his nostrils. And again, flushing out his lungs. He loved that smell - the familiar aroma of a hot day soon after a downpour had quenched hot concrete and flags - it was so natural, fresh and healthy, and such a welcome respite from the exhaust fumes and the acrid grease and grime odours of the city. He dreaded to think what the roads and cities would be like in twenty or thirty years time - clogged and gridlocked with way too many vehicles, he suspected. It was not an attractive prospect. He loved his cars as much as the next man, but there had to come a point where someone said enough was enough.

Gambit headed across the road towards Purdey's flat, the early morning sun warming the side of his face. Monday morning again. It soon came around. But at least he had had the weekend off, which had been enough to allow him the pleasure of witnessing Bjorn Borg secure his second Wimbledon title in a row. What a fantastic player he was to watch - fast and agile and super fit. And what a temperament - cool and calm under pressure; hardly ever showing any emotion; never questioning a line call. The young man was an inspiration. Indeed, come to think of it, the tennis player would make a worthy addition to the Department's ranks with all those qualities; though that was hardly ever likely to happen. Afterall, why take a substantial drop in pay and put one's life on the line? Being a Special Operative wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. The perceived "glamour", for starters, was quite a stretch from the reality (although, the opportunity of working with beautiful women - the lady he was presently about to call on, a case in point - was certainly one of the perks - and most definitely glamourous!). No, a career as a "heart throb" tennis player was far more attractive - and certainly a lot less dangerous! And Gambit was certain the young Swede had a good few more Wimbledon titles ahead of him the way he was improving with every match. The "Ice Man", as he had been hailed, had nowhere near reached his peak; indeed, he was starting to look invincible!...

Gambit dragged himself from his sporting thoughts as he headed down the short flight of steps to Purdey's basement flat, his Cuban heels beating out a tattoo on the stone.

He pulled his mind back to Department business, and in particular to Purdey and her current state of mind. How would she be feeling today? The girl always put on a brave face - always appeared cheerful and optimistic on the surface - but that was all the more worrying as you were never quite sure what was going on on the inside. That was uncertain enough, but the fact that it was less than two short weeks since her old flame Larry Doomer had been killed by a bullet, made her true state of mind all the more important to read and keep a check on. So called experts could have been brought in to monitor Purdey, but Steed - ever the "maverick" to throw away the rule book and do things his own way (and who too had recently experienced a personal case concerning an "old friend" turned traitor/defector, Mark Crayford) - thought it a far better idea to keep it "in the family" and for a friend to keep an eye on her. Hence, he had made Gambit her unofficial psychologist, psychiatrist and general "Guardian Angel"; or, as Purdey might describe the role: "Consider me a body-stocking!". Both men were quite sure that Purdey could handle it - she was a tough cookie - but they could never be 100% sure, and the last thing any of them wanted was for Purdey to crack up and break down in the field when lives were on the line. Mother hadn't been keen, had needed some convincing, but in his inimitable fashion, Steed had convinced him. Just. Yet Mother had warned that at the first sign that it wasn't working, they would have to look at Purdey's situation again and seek professional help from those employed within the Department more qualified.

Gambit still felt pangs of guilt, and had suffered nightmares in the days since he had shot Larry Doomer, in which he was being sentenced by a kangaroo court for murder. He was convinced he hadn't seen the last of the night terrors and expected to suffer recurring nightmares for a while - if not for the rest of his life on and off. He had killed many men during his time with the Department so that in itself was something he'd learned to cope with over the years, but it was the fact that he had killed a man who Purdey had once been in love with that plagued his conscience so much. Worse - far worse - was the fact that he had caused Purdey so much trauma and pain. That cut him up - would forever stab daggers into him for the rest of his life, no matter how much his training or others told him not to punish himself...

Once again, Gambit pulled himself from his tumbling thoughts and realised he was frowning. That wouldn't do - he had to look positive and upbeat for Purdey. Gathering himself together, he heaved a sigh and fixed a more pleasant expression upon his face - one that Purdey would be more familiar with and would, hopefully, help get today off on the right foot (he couldn't let Steed down either, so no pressure at all!).

That, was vital. Or there was little point to the day at all.

His mouth suddenly felt dry - like chalk had been dusted over his tongue - and he hoped Purdey had put the coffee on: he needed both the hydration and the caffeine.

He lifted a hand and rapped a knuckle against the door.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Our season of summer music next week will feature--"_

John Steed reached down and twisted the frequency knob on the car radio, cutting off the announcer in mid flow and searching out another station. Then he quickly decided he'd actually prefer some silence - to gather his thoughts as he drove - so stabbed the off button. He had caught the last ten minutes of the classical music hour - a show that he listened to quite regularly - and had quite enjoyed it; it had calmed him, helped him to relax.

But now the silence was, indeed, most welcome.

Steed eased off the accelerator just a touch, suddenly aware that he was driving a little bit faster than he need, and eased the Jaguar around a bend in the country road. There were still a few remaining damp patches on the windscreen and bonnet from the earlier summer downpour, but most of it had now evaporated or been blown away by the movement of the car. But he could feel the heat intensifying inside the vehicle, just as the temperature was rising slowly but surely outside: there was no doubt it was going to be quite a scorcher of a summer's day and he was thankful for the cool breeze that flushed the interior of the car now from the open driver's window; he knew that when he stopped and got out, there would be very little if any welcome breeze - it was still and hot out there.

Hopefully, he'd managed to distract and pre-occupy Gambit and Purdey on what was, to all intents and purposes, a decoy mission. Though they had no idea, of course. He would apologise when all this was over. A bonus distraction was the fact that Purdey was still raw and hurting from the death of Larry Doomer, and Gambit was suffering guilt pangs for being the one who'd actually pulled the trigger and killed Purdey's ex-lover. So, in addition to the wild goose chase he'd sent them on, the two would also - he was confident knowing what the pair were like - be pre-occupied with bathing and nursing each other's wounds. Most convenient right now.

Arriving at his destination, Steed slowed the car to a halt and turned off the ignition, pushing the automatic stick into PARK and yanking on the handbrake,

He threw open the driver's door and eased himself out of the Big Cat. He reached back inside and snatched up his umbrella from where it rested on the passenger seat. He had chosen it from his umbrella rack before leaving his stud, using his years of experience and instinct to decide which of the several specially adapted accessories it might be best to take. He'd often hoped that Q branch would come up with an "all-in-one" brolly, thereby removing the dilemma of which one to choose, but technology hadn't quite advanced so far as to enable everything he might need to be crammed into a single slender casing. So it was a case of pot luck or instinct in choosing. Or a little bit of both. It was however remarkably uncanny how - over his years with The Department - he almost always seemed to have made the right choice when it came to the crunch and the item was required for either attack, defence or some other task such as providing the housing for a microfilm camera. The same went for his bowler hats, although the choice there was, if anything, all the more wide.

Steed eased the driver's door to, instinctively reached up to adjust his bowler, then turned and headed off towards his destination.

He would be there in less than a minute.

He just hoped the meeting went according to plan, and without any nasty complications.


	4. Chapter 4

As he took another sip of Purdey's excellent coffee (the girl was unbelievably good at so many things), Gambit wondered if he was trying too hard - too soon - venturing into playful flirtation like this. He had only been in Purdey's flat a few minutes but was already doing his best to create a relaxed atmosphere. The way only Mike Gambit could.

Purdey was smiling, as she turned from pouring her own coffee, but he couldn't help but wonder if it might be forced.

She crossed one boot across the other and leaned back against the cupboard, nursing the coffee cup between her hands. She sighed, and cocked her head to one side.

'Mike, I'm sure you wouldn't be flattered if I fell for you on the rebound, now would you?' she quipped with her usual broad and beautiful smile that flashed a perfect set of gleaming white teeth.

But as Gambit had suspected, did the smile seem a little more unsure of itself than usual.

'I certainly wouldn't complain,' he replied with that all too familiar cheeky grin of his. 'Rebound or otherwise: the means justify the ends. You know me, Purdey - anything to get the desired result.'

Purdey couldn't help but smile, but she saw something else beneath Gambit's façade. Was he just doing his best to make her feel better, or was he genuinely stung by her remark. But then, she knew he was so used to her playful put downs by now that she couldn't see how he could possibly take offence.

_But then we're all a little sensitive at the moment..._

'You aren't like that, Mike, and you know it. You sell yourself short. You're much more principled than that.'

'Am I?'

'Yes.'

Gambit shook his head and tutted playfully. 'Silly - deluded - girl.'

Purdey's face immediately darkened a little and her fingers gripped her coffee cup even tighter as pain flashed in her eyes. She lowered her gaze, stared down into the brown liquid, traced a perfectly manicured fingernail along the handle. 'Now that I am.' She lifted the cup and took a quick sip, her gaze off to the side, avoiding Gambit's eyes.

Gambit could almost kick himself. His attempts to keep things light had failed. Even the most innocent and innocuous comment wasn't guaranteed to miss a raw nerve. Talk about treading on egg shells!

But still he tried:

'Look on the bright side, Purdey. We're off to France in a couple of weeks, and then straight on to Canada after that. That's something to look forward to, isn't it? The change will do us all the world of good.'

It was true that anything that took her away from familiar surroundings and routine at the moment would help - provide at least some distraction. But thoughts and memories and feelings weren't something you had any control over; wherever the physical body might be transported didn't really matter: feelings and emotions were guaranteed to come along for the ride and could rear their ugly heads at any moment - and usually when they were least expected, least wanted. A trip to Saturn was no more certain to take you away from your psychological troubles than a trip down the road.....

TBC............................


End file.
